How to destroy your feet for a good cause

My name is Nick and you might have seen me at a training session or two. A friend and I are keen supporters of the work of CHASE and spent some time wracking our brains to think of something we could do to raise money that would create some interest, even if only to say ‘You’re doing what??’

And so, many hours and a few drinks later, we conceived the idea of ‘Extreme Feat’. We were going to attempt something that had never been done before, run four of the most extreme marathons in the world in a year; High – Everest, Low – Dead Sea ultra (30 miles), Hot - Marathon des Sables (151miles and 5 days across the Sahara) and Cold – North Pole.

The North Pole marathon, officially the ‘coolest marathon in the world’ and the only one run entirely on water, was based at a makeshift camp run by the Russians, and due to the 24 hour sunlight which totally ruined our sleep cycle (I didn’t sleep for 48hrs) we set off at 3.45am. The North Pole, you would think, is flat but pressure ridges and open water ‘leads’ put that rumour to rest, so running was difficult.

As you can imagine, we had to wear a little more clothing than we normally do on a Tuesday night! From top to bottom, I wore:
Head - balaclava, beanie, face mask, goggles
Trunk - Helly Hansen thermal top, Ron Hill long sleeve wicking top (has to wick, otherwise the sweat would freeze and cool us down quickly), North Face goretex shell
Hands – inner gloves with metal weave to spread warmth, outer mitts.
Legs - Hind Tri shorts, thermal long johns, Ron Hill tracksters, windproof overtrousers
Feet – two pairs of running socks, normal trainers, tight neoprene cycling overshoes, Atlas racing snowshoes.

The snowshoes made things even more difficult as we were essentially running with weights on our feet and to top it off it was -25oC. Lovely sunny day, though. We only got a 15minute ‘heads-up’ before the start of the race, so scrabbling to get the kit on was not the ideal preparation for the race. This also meant that I hadn’t eaten anything prior to the start. Big mistake. The race was 10 laps of a 4.2km loop which, thankfully passed by the heated Mess tent every lap. It meant that at any point we could stop and refuel, or get warm if necessary which was fantastic, mentally. Also, we were never out of sight of the camp which was reassuring. Mind you we could have been 50 miles away and been in sight of the camp as there was nothing else there!

The first two laps at 3.45 in the morning on an empty stomach were not great. By 7km of hard grind on the snowshoes over ice ridges, through powder snow troughs and tripping over the tips of the snowshoes I was dry heaving on the course, starting to feel dizzy and more worryingly my vision was starting get blotchy. I was definitely getting hypoglycaemic, but the problem with going hypo is that sometimes you don’t realise it until it’s too late. This was not going to be a good day unless I got some hot food and drink inside me pretty quick. Thankfully, I was nearing the end of the 2nd lap, so I called to my running partner Phil and told him I had to stop for a couple of minutes just to get a gel and the nectar of life that revives all Englishmen, a nice cup of tea!

5 minutes later, we were back out on the run and I was feeling like a million bucks. It was only then that I really started enjoying myself and taking in the scenery. It was too much trouble to take my mitten and inner gloves off to check my watch, and in fact it would probably have been dangerous – exposed flesh freezes in a few minutes at those temperatures. As I had no way of telling how much time had passed, I just relaxed into it and ran around the course. I even took a couple of photos. I was having the time of my life.

Nearing the end of the 4th lap, Phil shouted over that he was having a tough day and that he needed some Jelly Babies and tea, all available at the tent. I was feeling strong, so I said I would run ahead and get it all ready. It worked out nicely and by the time Phil had reached the tent, I had the necessary ready. A couple of minutes and we set off again and so the pattern of the race continued, stopping every couple of laps for a refuel and to get something hot. We both knew that finishing the race would not be a problem as we had completed marathon distances in training, but we were acutely aware that when you are tired, you get cold and cold was not something that you needed to be this far north and this far from a hospital. One stop I made the mistake of having half a gel thinking that I would take the rest over the next lap. Of course it froze the second we were out of the tent and because it had oozed a bit, it was also stuck like glue to my mitten! I had to run for two laps with it flapping around.

On the last lap, Phil told me to run ahead as he was really struggling and I was still feeling strong. I double checked he was sure and was Ok and not about to keel over and I headed off thinking I’d try to really put some effort in over the last 4km. By this time I had chucked the showshoes and it was a bit like running a cross country race without trail shoes or spikes – it was fine, just hard work. I picked up the pace and was really pleased to pass about 4 or 5 people on the last lap. I finished in 5.27, time not really being a big issue, and in 12th place. Phil came in a few minutes behind in 17th out of 44. Both really pleased, but desperate to get out of our now very sweaty clothes which, as soon as we stopped moving, started to freeze and stick to our skin.

A quite amazing experience, but I was desperate for some sleep and I really needed a shower! I was not about to do what the Russians did and take a ‘snow shower’ which essentially meant standing around in your pants and boots rubbing snow all over yourself!

We went to the exact North Pole the next day, being dropped off by helicopter, which bounced on the ice to make sure it was thick enough, and stood at the only point on earth at which everywhere was south. It was a bit weird.

5 days, and not enough sleep, later we were at the start line for the Dead Sea ultra marathon, a 30 mile jaunt from Amman to the Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth 400m below sea level. The first 12kms were undulating and were fine. We were going at under 5 min/km pace (sub-3.30 marathon) and felt great. It was cool, but two things we knew were going to happen, firstly it was going to get an awful lot hotter and secondly a marathon 5 days previously was going to hit the legs at some point over the next 4 hrs or so.

Something that we take for granted in this country is the sheer number of races that are on offer to us. If you really wanted to you could probably find a marathon or a half every weekend of the year. In Jordan they have one race and this was it. With that in mind, the entire road (a motorway) was closed, the route was manned by the army, we were sent on our way by royalty and the Prince of Jordan gave out the prizes at the end of the race. It was fantastic.

Back to the run, and we started going downhill. The start point in Amman is at 900m. The finish point is at 400m below sea level. We were going to drop 1300m in altitude and most of it was going to be in the next 20km. The road slowly started falling away from us until we were running down an 8% decline. The up side was that we were averaging 4.15 per km with a heart rate of about 140bpm. The downside was that it wasn’t really running, it was our quads arresting the falling body. This was going to prove our downfall.

At about 25km in, and still on a steep slope, we went past a concrete bollard with a line and ‘Sea Level’ written on it. By now we could see the Dead Sea, but it was still 25kms away and it looked like it was still an awfully long way below us. Slowly the road levelled out and our splits slowed dramatically. We were at 5 mins/km, then 5.20, 5.45 and finally we hit 6 mins/km. Everything was finally catching up with us. We got to 32km and Phil started feeling it, especially in his feet. I was Ok, but my quads were complaining and I was getting some worrying niggles in my left calf. We still had 10 miles to go and were not far away from empty. Where there had been chat for the first couple of hours, there was now a pounding silence, the only noises being the occasional shout of encouragement from the side of the road, our feet smacking the tarmac and our breathing starting to get a bit raspey. This was not good.

Each kilometre was marked at the side of the road so I reverted to the distance runners’ mantra of ‘baby step’; make it to the lamp post, make it to the junction, make it to the sign. The kilometres were slowly ground out. Initially, the water stops every 3kms seemed excessive, now they couldn’t come fast enough. We hit the marathon point in 3.31, still a decent time, but we had another 4 miles to run. By this point it might as well have been 40, it seemed just so far. I kept telling myself that I knew it was going to hurt and that I’d better just get on with it. Nothing like being your own worst critic is there? However, I finally had to stop just after the 6kms to go as someone had inconsiderately stuck a knife in my left calf and was wiggling it around. It caught me by surprise and I stopped in two strides. I told Phil I would have to stop for a moment a stretch it off but he wasn’t much better off, he had been feeling the skin on both insoles slowly working its way free and finally sloughing off over the last few miles. He was running on raw flesh. He said that if he stopped he wouldn’t start again, which was entirely reasonable and we parted company.

It was advice I should have taken myself, as aside from the dagger in the calf, as soon as I stopped I realised just how wobbly my legs were. It was a real struggle to start walking once I’d stretched. But, slowly, slowly, I got going again. As a matter of interest I kept track of my splits and I was shuffling along at 10-11min/km.

Once I had got it in my head to just get going again and stop being such a big girl’s blouse, the final stretch went by a lot quicker – I even managed an 8min mile and a smile for the cameras at the end. I crossed the finish line, walked straight to the tent and lay on the floor with my legs in the air. I had finished in 4.21. The last 7kms had taken me 50mins.

I found Phil who was not in a very good way. He had managed to get to the end but only just. He told me he practically fell across the line and collapsed in the tent I was now lying in, but he had finished in 4.05, a fantastic time highlighting just how slowly I was going myself and just how stubborn he is! There was of course a price to pay for this. I only managed to climb the stairs 2 days later and managed to descend the stairs without resorting to going down backwards the day after. Phil’s feet were a bloody mess which constantly scabbed over and then bled, but a day by the pool and a dip in the Dead Sea (you really do float, it’s amazing!) seemed to ease the pain a bit.

A bit of rest and we are off to Everest in May to complete the highest marathon in the world. Nothing like taking it easy!

 

Everest Marathon – 29th May 2007

Two marathons down in quick succession in April had been a good start (North Pole and the Dead Sea Ultra) but the third one in our quest to do 4 of the most extreme marathons in one year was going to be really tough. At this altitude, the barometric pressure is about 510mb (cf. England at 1000-1020mb) and so there is just less than 50% the amount of oxygen at Everest base camp than there is at sea level. Walking was going to prove hard; people had died of altitude sickness in the past lower than where we were going to go. Running was going to be impossible.

The day of the race and we all lined up at 6.45am for the role call, numbers pinned on our chests, running packs or rucksacks filled with food and water. The quickest foreigners were going to be out there for a minimum of 6 hours, so we had to fuel up on the way. The countdown to 7am came, the gun went and we were off. I wondered how we were all going to squeeze along the narrow track but I needn’t have worried. 60 Nepalese locals all sprinted off and within 400m they had left us all behind in the dust. There was now plenty of space! Phil and I made our way along the path, sometimes jogging, sometimes scrambling but mostly walking along the moraine. We got to Gorak Shep (5km) with no real problems, but when we looked for the water, the locals in charge just shook their heads and said ‘no more’! Phil had a little in his rucksack, but I was relying on that water. Standing still, we had to drink litres of water a day to stop dehydrating, so running was making us run low on reserves pretty quickly. Amazingly enough, we were in 4th place (foreigners), so we decided to push onto Thokla at the 13km mark. This was at the end of the Khumbu glacier which runs from Everest Base Camp and the running after this point was to get easier under foot. Thankfully the stop there had lots of water, so we loaded up, took two minutes to eat something and pushed on.

Dingboche (halfway) came and went in just under 3 hours. The run down the valley was beautiful. As we descended from the rocks and ice of altitude we started seeing firstly grass, then as we got further down, flowers, shrubs and finally trees. The settlements became more numerous and bigger and the feeling that we were running away from an alien environment towards life giving levels of oxygen grew. Imperceptibly, we sped up. The distances of each run stint grew and the walking gaps in between shortened. We remained in 4th place all the way down the valley. In fact, apart from seeing one of the Germans in our group, Niels, behind us just at the end of the glacier, we hadn’t seen anyone for hours. It was amazing, liberating running, a million miles from the squashed world of England and its overcrowded roads and paths.

The path up to Tyangboche suddenly reared up. We had forgotten a small but deadly part of the course. Just beyond the Tyangboche monastery the path veered precipitously downwards for 600m, we would cross the river and then climb 650m straight up. We had this mentally accounted for, but on the mental map we hadn’t even considered this short sharp slope up to the monastery. It was hardly any distance at all, but by the water stop in front of the monastery, Phil and I had split up. I was bent double at the top trying to pour as much water down my neck as I could and Phil was rapidly approaching the wall. When we got together at the top, he said that he was getting slower and that for the first time, he had seen people catching him up. A few minutes gathering ourselves and we decided to get going again. Now for the real tester.

Running down the hill was hard work. A shallow hill you can stride out and run reasonably comfortably, but this was steep. Each time your foot lands, your feet slide slightly forward in your shoes, no matter how well fitting and snug they are. After a couple of minutes, my toes were just slamming into the front of my trainers on every step. The pain really started half way down when I managed to stub my left big toe on a rock and carried on traumatizing my toes whilst running. I could slowly feel my toenail working its way loose. Amazingly, as it worked its way loose, it started feeling less and less painful and I began to hope it would come off completely before the climb on the other side of the river. Unfortunately the river was fast approaching, so I started deliberately ramming my left toes forward in the hope that I could encourage it to come loose. Unfortunately I had to hold onto my toenail for a little while longer, but this pain was nothing to what was about to come on the way up the other side of the valley.

One person past us, then another, then a few more. Each offered words of encouragement, which we reciprocated, through sweaty grimaced faces and moved on up the mountain at a pace which was hardly more than our own, but it was a pace that was just impossible to match. We climbed. Past the water stop we went, up through the tree lined path out onto the open stone steps. It started raining. Slowly at first, then harder. at first the rain was a cooling balm, but as it got harder, we started getting cold. On the verge of shivering and with no wet weather tops, we had a choice – either get cold, start shivering at which point we would really start struggling with the potential of getting dangerously cold, or create more heat from inside by upping the work rate. With no fuel in the tank, Phil was stuck between a rock and a hard place. We got our heads down and tried to increase the pace. I took Phil’s rucksack to lighten his load as much as possible and left him with an isotonic drink to drink on the go. Two thirds of the way up, Phil’s pace started increasing ever so slightly. We were still going slowly, but Phil was starting to look much better than he had done at the bottom. At last, the slope gradually reduced and the town of Khunde came into view. Still, we climbed up through town until we reached, appropriately, the hospital and gratefully turned back down the slope for a short respite of jogging down a slope. The last 5 km had taken just over 2 hours.

As we crested the final summit, the heavens opened. It poured. Not the poor efforts of rain we get in Britain, but a hard wall of rain that hurt exposed flesh. It rapidly turned into hail and started to sting badly. The last downhill zig-zagged down the side of a hill towards Namche Bazar and the narrow dirt tracks turned into torrents of muddy waters. We slid, waddled and waded our way down the hill until we were there – the last 200m of flat track to the finish. We were both spent and as we approached the line we shook hands. It seemed like the thing to do. We had really done something here and we knew it. We came through the line arms in the air in 7 hours and 41 minutes for a share of 9th placed foreigners. We were amazed to see every one of the previous 8 foreign finishers were there waiting for us and there were hugs and congratulations all round. Antoine (FRA), Alan (GBR), Tom (USA), Alena (NED), Niels (GER), Theresia and Koop (NED), Peter (AUS) and Mark (GBR) were all wearing their finishers medals and Tenzing-Hillary Everest Marathon tracksuits proudly in the rain grinning from ear to ear. We had all done good.

If you think we are doing something worthwhile, or even if you just think we’re nuts, please sponsor us in our challenge and help care for terminally ill kids. You can donate through our web page attached to the CHASE website at: http://www.chasecare.org.uk/how-can-i-help/extreme_feat.html. All private donations go direct to the charity, although we are also looking for corporate sponsorship. Any questions can be directed to extremefeat@hotmail.com.